


a lifeboat roped to an ocean liner

by likewinning



Series: are we getting any closer [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: This isn't the first time, or even the second.





	

"No," Connor says when Kyle tries to kiss him. They're sitting on the floor of Kyle's studio apartment, surrounded by paintings. Kyle shivers against him, ducks his head against his shoulder.

"Sorry," he says. "Habit," he says, and laughs at the word.

"I know," Connor says. He brushes his hand through Kyle's hair. Kyle called him an hour ago, frantic and out of it. He's been detoxing again, and Connor hopes this time it might stick, but -

This isn't the first time, or even the second.

"You've been working," Connor says. He tips his chin at one of the canvasses in the corner, a smear of blue and black that could be the night sky.

"Ha," Kyle says. "You mean in between lying on the floor wishing I was dead?"

"Kyle," Connor says.

"It's shit," Kyle says. He twists his finger around the end of Connor's t-shirt. "You know I can't paint when I'm sober, baby - Connor," he corrects himself when Connor breathes in sharp.

"You just think you can't," Connor says. He takes Kyle's hand, runs his fingers over flecks of paint and the cross tattooed over his ring finger. "Drugs didn't make you talented."

"Maybe," Kyle says. He shifts against Connor, his hair tickling his neck. "Sorry if you were," he says. "I know we're not - I shouldn't have -"

"Don't," Connor says. He moves so he can see Kyle's face, big dark circles under his eyes and all. Kyle never sleeps when he's working anyway, but the withdrawals make it worse. "I'm still your friend, Kyle. I'm still here."

Kyle nods, drops his gaze. "But I can't kiss you."

"No," Connor says.

"But if I -"

"Come to a meeting with me," Connor says, and Kyle makes a face. "Please," Connor says.

"I don't know," Kyle says. "I'm so tired."

"Tomorrow then," Connor says. "Get some sleep and I'll pick you up in the morning."

"Donna's been going," Kyle says. "She says they help sometimes."

"Hey," Connor says. He holds Kyle's face in his hands, and he smells turpentine and paint and Connor _misses_ him. "It can't hurt, right?"

Kyle nods. "You'll be there?" he asks, and Connor smiles.

"Of course," he says.

"Hey," Kyle says. "Sing me something?"

Connor ducks his head, rubs at his neck. "I don't have my guitar," he says.

"I don't care," Kyle says. "I just wanna hear your voice."

"Yeah, okay," Connor says. The first song that comes to mind is an old one, something he worked on for hours when he and Kyle shared this apartment. Kyle would paint all day while he played, and when it got late and they both realized they hadn't eaten anything they'd order take-out and crash on the couch, Kyle covered in paint and Connor's fingers numb from strumming the guitar.

When Connor starts to sing, Kyle lays down on the floor, and by the time he finishes Kyle's crashed out and breathing softly. Connor locks the door behind him with the key he never gave back.

 

*

 

"No," Kyle mutters the next morning. He forgot to close the blinds last night, and sunlight streams through the windows, half-blinding him. "It's too early," Kyle says.

"It's not that early," Connor reasons.

"It's too _bright_ ," Kyle whines.

"Come on," Connor says. He nudges Kyle's shoulder, and Kyle wishes he'd slept literally anywhere but the floor. It's not the first time he's done this, but it's the first time he's _felt_ it in a while. "I brought you breakfast."

Kyle peeks one eye open, then the other. Connor's smiling down at him, patient as ever (except for when he left, when Kyle drained every ounce of life out of him -), the morning light turning his hair golden and bringing out the color of his eyes. One time after Connor left, Kyle spent a whole day trying to get that color right, only to give up, toss the canvas at the wall and get so high he forgot Connor's name.

"What is it?" Kyle asks. He doesn't remember the last time he ate, but that's nothing new when he's working, or trying to.

"Churros from that place down on 8th," Connor says. " _If_ you get up," he says when Kyle grabs for the bag from the floor.

Kyle makes a face at him but stands up, more so he can put the sun away than anything. _Then_ he takes the bag from Connor and manages to down half a churro before he remembers why Connor's _here_.

"Listen," Kyle says. "Maybe we don't have to go today."

"No?" Connor asks, with the same polite expression like when Kyle would spend eight hours boring him about Picasso. "Why's that?"

"I mean," Kyle says. He wipes some sugar off his t-shirt. "I mean, I think I'm doing better, right? NA's just for the _real_ fuck-ups."

"Kyle," Connor says, and he looks so _sad_ all of a sudden, and Kyle wants to get right back down on the floor and never get back up. Maybe after he paints him just like this. Maybe after a shot of heroin. Maybe -

"Shit," Kyle says. "Okay. I'm sorry. I just…"

"You're scared," Connor says. "I know. That's what I'm here for." He smiles and pulls Kyle into a hug, and he smells clean and warm.

"Because you're never scared of anything," Kyle says.

"Just losing you for good," Connor says, so quiet Kyle almost doesn't hear him. He gets dressed after that, runs a comb through his hair and makes Connor promise there'll be coffee where they're going.

"Mia's friend Jay makes it. It's _good_ coffee, even," Connor promises. "The snacks, too, Mia says."

 

*

The coffee tastes burnt, and when Connor and Kyle show up, someone's complaining to M about the food.

"Granola bars, M?" the guy asks. " _Granola bars_?"

"Jay's sick today, Grayson," M says. "You feel like getting his germs?"

"Who cares about germs?" Grayson asks. He looks like he might start crying. "What are we supposed to do with _granola bars_?"

"Well, you could shove them up your -" M starts, and Connor steps in.

"Hi, M," he says. They've met a couple times at the gym Connor goes to, and M's the one he suggested he bring Kyle over here. "This is my friend Kyle."

"Hey," Kyle says. He blinks up at him over his coffee cup.

"Hey," M nods. He tilts his head toward Grayson. "Our little pastry chef is out, so this idiot is having a tantrum."

"I'm not," Grayson starts, and M stares him down.

"Sit," M says, and when Grayson stomps off he tells Connor and Kyle, "He's not even an _addict_. He just shows up like it's a soup kitchen."

Connor laughs, and Kyle yawns and says, "Well, I promise I'm legit. You wanna see my track marks?"

Connor flinches, and M clears his throat. "Why don't you guys have a seat?" he asks. "We'll get started pretty soon."

"Hey," Connor says as soon as they sit down. The room's filling up around them, and Kyle watches every person as they sit down. One time at one of Connor's gigs, Kyle took his sketchbook and spent the night drawing the people at the bar, every different face. That sketchbook ended up in the trash, just like a lot of Kyle's do when he's in one of his moods.

"You doing okay?" Connor asks. He unwraps one of the granola bars and breaks off a piece for Kyle, but Kyle shakes his head.

"Come on," Connor says. "You barely ate your breakfast."

Kyle makes a face at him. "You gonna feed it to me, too?" he asks.

"I could hold you down," Connor suggests, and Kyle gets this heavy look in his eyes that makes him blush. One time -

"Okay," M says. "It's a little after nine. Let's get started."

He starts with the introductions, and Connor holds his breath when they get to Kyle.

"I'm Kyle," he says, rubbing at the tattoo on his wrist. "I've been clean… A couple days this time. This is my first time ever… I always think I can just."

"Hey," M says. "Take your time."

"Yeah," Kyle says. He nods, and Connor puts his hand on his shoulder. "I've been shooting heroin for… A couple years now. It helps me work. I'm an artist, I guess," he says, and Connor squeezes his shoulder. "Anyway, I'm here because of this fuckin' guy," he says, and a couple of people laugh. "I'm trying."

"Thanks, Kyle," M says. "Who's next?"

They listen to a few more stories, and M talks them through some techniques to stay sober. Connor watches Kyle the whole time, hoping this can work.

"What did you think?" Connor asks afterward as he and Kyle head for the bus stop. The sun's out but it's still cold, and the wind whips Kyle's hair around.

"I don't know," Kyle says. "This is what you want?"

"I want you to get better, Kyle," Connor says. "It doesn't have to be this."

Kyle moves into his space, looks up at him with big green eyes and Connor thinks about that first night they met, when he didn't even know what he _wanted_ except to stay this close to Kyle.

"Will it get you back?" Kyle asks.

"I," Connor says. The bus pulls up to the stop, and Connor swallows. "Come on," he says. "We have to go."

"Yeah," Kyle says. "Okay, sure."

 

*

 

Kyle recognizes her immediately. Back in art school, he used to pull her pictures out of magazines to draw her: the perfect curves of her lips, the sloping lines of her neck and shoulders. She's older now, but still beautiful; even in a crowd of junkies she keeps her head up.

"Hey," Kyle says. He waits until after the meeting to talk to her. He doesn't want to be a bother, but Connor couldn't make it today, and the only person Kyle's spoken to since yesterday is his bonkers next door neighbor who always comes by to ask if he's seen the news. Kyle's not all that sure what _month_ it is.

"You're - you're Mari McCabe, right?" Kyle asks.

"Thought this was Narcotics _Anonymous_ ," Mari says. "But sure. That's me." She smiles, a quick upturn of her lips that Kyle's drawn at least a dozen times, then looks him over. "And I know you, too. Kyle Rayner, right?" When Kyle blinks at her, she laughs, low like a drumbeat. "Donna did a photoshoot for me once or twice. Saw your pictures in her portfolio."

"Oh," Kyle says, blushing. He had to get high as shit to let Donna do that. He has no problems painting or drawing people in every possible way, but being that exposed, even to Donna, was something else.

"Yeah," he says. "Well, it was an even trade when Donna let me paint her."

"Hm," Mari says. "Now _those_ I'd like to see." She winks, and Kyle chokes on his coffee. At least it's _better_ today.

"Are you - did you and Donna -"

"No," Mari says, her laugh a little lighter this time. She holds up her hand, flashes a diamond ring followed by her teeth. 

"Really?" Kyle asks. "How does she deal with all - this?"

"Not very well, honestly," Mari says a few minutes later when they hit the Starbucks across the street. Nothing against Jay's coffee, but sometimes Kyle just needs a damn mocha. "It's been hard," Mari says. "Every time I go on a location shoot, Shayera worries I might be…"

"Yeah," Kyle says.

"Lifestyle doesn't help, either," Mari says. "I took a break for a while. Did the actual rehab thing out in Minnesota. Stopped taking jobs for a while, too."

"That must've been weird," Kyle says. "I mean when I stop painting I kinda…"

"Fall apart?" Mari asks, and Kyle nods. "But I bet you think you can only paint when you're high, too."

Kyle looks down, blushes. "Connor says it's bullshit."

"That's the cute boy on your phone, right?" Mari asks. Kyle looks back up. "I saw a picture of you guys on your lockscreen when you checked your phone a little while ago," Mari says. "Boyfriend?"

"Not," Kyle says. "No. We - I - that's why I'm."

"Mm," Mari nods. She pulls out her purse and a compact and fixes her lipstick. "Not to get all preachy on you, sweetheart," she says. "But it never sticks when you make it about them." She looks up from the mirror. "It's gotta be about _you_."

"Yeah," Kyle breathes.

"Listen," Mari says. She puts away her things and stands up, and even without heels she's almost as tall as he is. "I have to run if I'm going to catch my flight, but I know how hard this is. It's been two years and I'm still…" She tips her head up, lets out a breath, and then pulls a card out of her purse. "You can call me, okay?"

"Wait," Kyle says. He takes the card, staring at her name in bold letters. "You mean it?"

Mari grins, white white teeth like a tiger. "Any friend of Donna's is a friend of mine," she says. "Besides, maybe you'll make it up to me with a painting sometime."

"Hell, Mari," Kyle says. "I'd do a whole _collection_."

Mari laughs and kisses him on the cheek before heading out.

 

*

 

Connor doesn't seen him every day. He _wants_ to, just like he wants to forget all this just being friends garbage and cuddle up in Kyle's bed watching those ridiculous animal shows he likes, but Mia gave him a lecture and a _half_ after she found out he's been talking to Kyle again, and.

Well, Mia's right about just about everything except her taste in food - Mia makes Kyle looks like a five-star chef, and Connor's pretty sure Kyle accidentally fed him paint one time.

So yeah, Connor tries to keep up that healthy distance, going to meetings with Kyle and hanging out at his apartment sometimes but remembering it's _his_ apartment, but when Kyle calls him at two in the morning -

"Kyle?" Connor asks. Someone's car alarm is going off a few blocks over and the TV's still on in the living room where Mia must have fallen asleep.

"Hey," Kyle says, and Connor's stomach starts to gurgle because they've been doing this long enough and Kyle sounds. Sounds.

"What's," Connor says. He could be wrong. He sits up in bed and tries to breathe. "What's going on? It's late."

Kyle laughs, but it's not really a laugh at all. "You know what's going on, baby," he says. "I fucked up. I…"

Connor covers his face with his hand. His heartbeat stays steady, but his mouth trembles when he asks, "What happened?" _You were doing so well._

"I was working," Kyle says. "This - new thing. Remember how I was telling you about running into Mari not too long ago? Anyway I was actually _painting_ for a couple days, sober and everything. And then. And then I got stuck, and I started thinking just _once_ wouldn't hurt and - I fucked up, baby."

"Don't," Connor grits out. He rubs his eyes. "Don't call me that."

"Connor," Kyle says. "Connor. I'm sorry. That's why I called. As soon as I did it, I knew it was a mistake. Connor," Kyle says when Connor doesn't say anything. "Talk to me, okay. I know it's late but just… Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," Connor says. He had the energy for that much a year ago when he found out Kyle was using again. Now it's more of a sinking, numb sort of feeling like this might never end. He doesn't want to think that about Kyle, never _wanted_ that - not Kyle with his easy laugh, body covered in ink, hands that can turn just about anything beautiful. Kyle made him so _happy_ \- still does, sometimes.

Sometimes.

"Look," Kyle says. "I flushed all of it already. And in the morning I'll go to a meeting and tell everyone I'm an asshole, and. But just. You're still my friend, right?"

"Yeah, Kyle," Connor says. "I'll always be that."

After he gets off the phone, he goes out into the living room to turn the TV off for Mia, but she wakes up and sees him, and as soon as she does she grabs his hand.

"Again?" Mia asks, because Mia's seen this enough times, with Kyle and enough of her friends.

"Yeah," Connor says.

"Come here," she says. She sits up and tugs him onto the couch, and they sit and watch reruns of _Dogs with Jobs_ until they're crying about something else instead.

 

*

 

Kyle wakes up on the floor of his apartment, sees Connor standing over him, and immediately wonders if he can somehow manage to set himself on fire before Connor speaks.

"I don't know what to say to you," Connor says finally, and Kyle thinks there's a putty knife somewhere around here that he could stab through his heart.

"I just," Connor says. He kneels down on the floor, and Kyle turns on his side to look at him. Sometimes when they were together, Kyle would purposely turn off Connor's alarm so that he could sketch him just like this, the way the morning light hits him.

"Is it me?" Connor asks. "Did I push you too hard, Kyle? Because if you need space, I -"

" _No_ ," Kyle says. He sits up, grabs Connor's face in his hands before he can remember all the reasons he's not supposed to do that anymore. "God, Connor, no. I just fucked up, and I… I'm so sorry."

Connor nods, drops his gaze and says, "Mia said I should come over here and kick your ass."

"Yeah, well she's always been smart as hell," Kyle says. "I miss her."

"She misses you, too," Connor says. "When you get through this -"

" _If_."

" _When_ ," Connor says, looking at Kyle again. "I know she'll want to see you."

"Maybe," Kyle says. He rubs his thumbs over Connor's temples. "I've burned a lot of bridges, man."

"Not with me," Connor says.

"Baby," Kyle says, and he knows he's not supposed to, but Connor licks his lips and Kyle drags him in, licks away the taste of orange juice and the apple Connor probably ate on the way here. Connor kisses back, twists his fingers in the collar of Kyle's filthy, paint-smattered shirt and lets out the prettiest sigh.

"God," Kyle says. He kisses Connor's jaw, scrapes his lips against blonde stubble. "I miss you so much, Connor." He kisses Connor's neck, breathes in deep. "Miss your smell. Miss you taking all the covers. I -"

"Kyle," Connor says, and Kyle hears him like he's coming out from underwater. Connor pushes him back, gently.

"Dammit, Connor," Kyle says. " _Why_?"

"I'm sorry," Connor says. He stands up, touching his fingers to his lips. "Get dressed and we'll go. I'm sorry."

 

*

 

"Out," M says as soon as Connor and Kyle sit down, and at first Kyle thinks he's talking about _them_ , but when he looks around M's pointing at some guy wearing a leather duster and covered in piercings.

"Ah, come on, M," the guy says. British accent, and he wobbles like a pirate when he steps up to M.

"Fuck off, John," M says. "This is a meeting for addicts and you're _wasted_."

"On booze, though," John says. "I haven't been shooting or snorting." He taps his nose, grins up at M. "You can check if you like."

M glares at him, and Kyle's always found him a little intimidating, but right now he looks _scary_. He grabs John by the arm like a bouncer at a club and starts to drag him out and John squirms out of his grip and says, "All right, all right, you big brute. I'm going. You can have your precious meeting without me."

John brushes off his duster and stumbles out of the circle of chairs, reeking like beer and whiskey and cigarettes. Kyle can't even laugh with how guilty he feels himself.

"Okay," M says. "Anyone else want to start a riot?"

A few chairs away, Grayson giggles, and M politely flips him off before taking his seat.

"That's going to happen," M says. "Maybe not so _obnoxiously_ , but relapses are going to happen to most of you. No one's perfect. But at the same time, you can't blame anyone but yourself." Connor squeezes Kyle's hand.

"I," Kyle says. He clears his throat. "I shot up last night. First time in. In almost a month now."

M nods. "How did you feel, man?"

"At first it was great," Kyle admits. "Felt like everything I've been missing. But then I thought about. About everyone I let down, and."

"And letting yourself down?" M asks.

"I don't know if I'm there yet," Kyle says.

"It's funny," M says, addressing the group again. "Addicts can be the most selfish people in the world. They'll steal and lie and cheat for another hit. But when it comes to quitting… Sometimes we're the last people we bother to think of."

 

*

 

After the meeting, Kyle and Connor take the bus back to his apartment. Kyle's quiet most of the way, somewhere in his own head the way he gets sometimes. Connor thinks about early this morning: about finding Kyle the way he did, about Kyle's mouth pressed against his so desperately.

There's a coffee shop below Kyle's apartment building, so they stop in and grab a booth. Connor's played here a couple of times. They met somewhere just like this, when Connor was playing to a college crowd and Kyle was arguing with the owner, trying to get him to hang up some of his paintings. Connor couldn't help getting involved, couldn't help arguing with Kyle because the paintings were beautiful. Connor knew nothing about art, barely does still except what Kyle told him, but he knows that when he looks at Kyle's paintings, sometimes, the world stops.

Kyle has a few of his paintings hanging up here, too. There's one of the New York skyline that always makes Connor think of his first night here. They both wound up here from the west coast, idiot kids who didn't even own winter coats until moving here. Kyle used to talk sometimes about moving back to California, spending the rest of his time on the beach drawing pretty girls. He hates the winters here.

"Thanks for coming with me," Kyle says. He holds his latte mug tight in his hands to warm them, then starts fussing around pouring sugar after sugar into his drink.

"Of course," Connor says. "I want to help, Kyle. I -"

"Then I need you to go," Kyle says.

"What?" Connor asks, and Kyle's face crumples like when he wrecks a drawing beyond repair.

"Not - shit, I don't mean like." Kyle shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then looks at Connor. "It's like. It's like M was saying today. And, and Mari. You're - god, Connor, you're my whole life. You know that." He reaches across the table and strokes Connor's wrist, his fingers warm on Connor's skin.

"But I think," Kyle says. "I think I gotta figure out me without you if I'm ever gonna get better. Because right now. Right now the only reason I'm not high as a kite is because of how much you don't want me to be."

"Kyle," Connor says. It's too stuffy in here. It's too hard to breathe. The steam from his tea is suffocating him and he knows Kyle's right, he knows -

"I love you," Kyle says. He squeezes Connor's wrist. "But right now. Right now I need to. I need to get better for me."

Connor nods, swallows. "Do you want to?" he asks.

"Yeah," Kyle says. He smiles, the way he does when he sees Connor across the room on stage or at some party, like he can't wait to get back over to him. "You know, I think I really do."


End file.
